


The Shots You Don't Take

by notapepper



Series: Science Babies Bein' Babies (Academy & Sci-Ops) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Christmas, Drinking, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Mild Language, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 20:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2122911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/pseuds/notapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The science babies attend their first party together at the Academy.  Neither Fitz nor Simmons has ever been drunk before, but where there are board games and Jell-O shots, who’s to say how the night will go?<br/>Sequel to Oh To Be Young, but can be read standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amandajoyce118](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandajoyce118/gifts).



> I don't own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
> 
> Set in late November in FitzSimmons’ first year at the Academy.

"You miss 100% of the shots you don't take." - Wayne Gretzky  (-- Michael Scott)

 

 

 

 

It was the Tuesday before Thanksgiving, and campus was practically deserted.

Unlike the majority of their peers, of course, Simmons and Fitz weren’t going home, so they’d made plans for the next few days.  Or tried to make plans.  Fitz, in particular, was incredibly excited at the prospect of a holiday that revolved around eating as much as he could before passing out.  Simmons was more intrigued by the possibility of finally getting to goof around with the Academy’s tandem mass spectrometer, which was typically monopolized by the fourth- and fifth-year students.  And while Fitz wanted to have a lie-in and play videogames, Simmons fancied a visit to the nearby city's arboretum and butterfly garden, so they were having a bit of a tug-of-war trying to organize potential activities for the hiatus.  In the end, they’d decided to settle the question via friendly competition, with the added bonus that the victor could name themselves “King of the Lab” until the end of the month.

Simmons stood in front of the mirror, putting on the finishing touches to her hair and make-up -- nothing over the top, of course, just enough for a social evening out.  She'd never been to a board game party, but a classmate had been kind enough to extend the invitation, and it was the perfect way to settle her and Fitz’s little scheduling issue.   _Especially since I'm going to win._   She smirked at her reflection and pinned a curl loosely behind one ear.  The thought glanced through her brain that this was the first time Fitz would see her out of her usual layers and lab coats.   _Maybe if I look nice, he’ll be distracted._  She could use that to her advantage.

Not that she would mind if Fitz thought of her as a girl, for once.  She’d been around him long enough now to take offense, a time or two, at his brusque dismissal of her femininity.  She could have sworn in the past couple months there’d been the odd stare that made her blush and turn away, mind confusingly atwitter, but for the most part, Fitz didn’t really treat her like a woman.  Which was refreshing, and surely what she wanted, after being judged most of her life based on her exterior.   _It’s not like I wish Fitz saw me differently._   It was fine, being best friends -- it was great -- but every now and then Simmons wanted to feel pretty.  The instinct embarrassed her, even as she justified it staunchly.   _Why shouldn’t I want to be appreciated, when I’ve made an effort?_

She’d certainly noticed Fitz’s appearance, on occasion.  Ever since he’d stopped wearing those baggy tees and started putting himself together a bit better, of course she’d noticed.   _How could I not take a minute to look, when he’s dressed that way at my recommendation?_ But she had to admit, while she’d made the first few improvements, Fitz had taken the trend and run uphill with it.  Much like their work in the lab, where he latched on to her vague ideas for serums or compounds and immediately thought of practical applications, including the mechanisms he could build, Fitz had started layering untucked button-ups with cardigans and ties, keeping his scuffed red trainers, combining patterns and solids in ways she never would have thought of.  And it was a good look.  Particularly when he wore one of his few blazers.   _Amazing, what a pair of shoulder pads can do for a skinny frame._  Not that she cared, beyond a mild sense of pride that her friend had turned his style around so impressively.

And, okay, _maybe_ \-- once -- she’d tried flirting with Fitz, just to see how it felt.  But, disappointingly, or perhaps luckily for everyone, those signals had soared over his head like an inflatable pig at a Pink Floyd concert.  Simmons knew she wasn’t the best at being coquettish, but she’d still hoped for a bit more than a furrowed brow and an inquiry after her ocular health.  Still, it was just as well.   _Can’t imagine what I would’ve done if he’d flirted back…_ or maybe he had, and _she_ hadn’t caught it.  Simmons blew out her cheeks and chose a pair of simple silver earrings.  She wasn’t getting dolled up for Fitz.  Honestly, she was just dressing nicely for a party.   _It’s the appropriate thing to do._

 

* * *

 

 _Oh sweet Jesus_ .  She looked great.  Fitz suddenly felt incredibly slovenly standing in front of her across the doorway.  He also wondered if he should’ve left his roommate behind, so Herrick wouldn’t be right there, equally privy to the sight of Jemma.  The deep wine color of her body-skimming blouse pirouetted off something in her lip that made her face glow.  Her smile was first-day-of-school crisp white pages, her eyes were freshly poured champagne.  Everything about her sparkled.  Fitz forced himself to snap out of his daze.   _Maybe she’s covered in body glitter, the kind strippers wear._   There was nothing ethereal about _that_ .

Herrick’s drawn-out whistle whipped Fitz to attention.

“There must be some mistake… we’re lookin’ for a scientist, small, kinda dorky?  Goes by a man’s name?”

She narrowed her eyes playfully, but didn’t swat him as she would have if Fitz had been the one teasing.  Herrick’s easy dig at Simmons showed how far they’d all come since their contentious beginnings.  Fitz wasn’t entirely sure he liked this new dynamic.   _We shoulda spent more time at hers._   Simmons’ roommate shared only the bathroom and had her own front door; he’d met the woman a grand total of once.

“What’s this, then, Dr. Fitzy?  You brought backup?  Don’t think you can defeat me on your own?”

It was eery, how well she could read him.  Fitz wasn’t used to party games and Herrick was, so of course he’d wanted the help.   _That’s nothin’ to be ashamed of._   _She’s just mad she didn’t think to enlist her own pit crew._

“Hey, now--” Herrick started to protest being relegated to backup status, while Fitz cut in with his own response.

“Well, pardon me if I don’t want to spend our days off doin’ homework and starin’ at leaves.”  His face twisted like he’d smelled one of Jemma’s bio-samples.

“You hush.  If you’re nice to me after I win, maybe we still can go to Old Country Buffet.”  Her grin widened as she raised an eyebrow.

“And perhaps after _I_ win, I’ll tag along to the lab with you -- in between rounds of Xbox, of course.”

She snorted -- _how can she manage that so elegantly?_ \-- and pulled on her coat.  “In that case, let the games begin… Robin.”

“Oh, for the love of-- can’t I be the Riddler, at least?  He’s clever.  Besides, if I’m Robin, then you’re Alfred, always fussin’.”  Actually, Fitz had decided weeks ago that he and Simmons were both Batman, or Batman and Catwoman -- _or would she be Poison Ivy, in all her biochem glory?_   This line of thinking was putting too many skimpy-costume images into his head, but either way, Fitz knew they were evenly matched, no need to mention it to Simmons though.   _Plus, I’ve brought a sidekick, so…_ Victory was going to taste as sweet as the four different kinds of Thanksgiving pie he intended to sample.

 

* * *

 

“You made it!”  Penelope, their exuberant classmate, tried to hug her and Fitz together, failing miserably and splashing her tropical-smelling cocktail on his shoe.  “And you brought eye candy,” she ogled Herrick, “I love it!  Hey Lexie!  Fitz-Simmons are here!  Come in, guys, come in!”

Herrick took everything in stride, as usual, and relinquished the six-pack of beer that was their unofficial entrance fee.  “Evenin’, ma’am,” he drawled, tipping his cowboy hat.  Simmons hated to admit it, but that whole Matthew McConaughey vibe could be pretty charming.

“Any trouble finding the place?”

They reassured Penelope that her directions to the off-campus house had been more than clear, as she took their coats and Simmons’ purse into the back bedroom, reappearing almost instantly.

“Jell-O, or regular?”

Simmons’ quizzical expression must have given her away.

“Shots, Simmons!  What kind of shots do you want?  Everyone does a shot as soon as they get here.  House rules!”

“Oh, well, er…”  She hadn’t been planning to drink -- embarrassingly, she’d never gotten drunk before, and didn’t fancy her first time being at a random house full of strangers -- and lit on the perfect excuse.  “Fitz and I are underage.”

A half-groan, half-scoff escaped Fitz’s lips.  “Christ, Simmons, why do y’ bring up stuff like that?  You know perfectly well we’d be legal back home.”

“Yeah, live a little!  Work hard, play harder!”  Penelope crooned.  “Aren’t you guys British?  I mean, didn’t your parents, like, put gin in your baby formula?”

Simmons’ eyes fluttered shut as she processed all the wrong in that statement.  Before she had a chance to respond, however, Fitz spoke up.  “You can stop with the teasin’.  Simmons can hold her alcohol just fine, can’t you, Simmons?”

 _My champion._   Simmons resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  Fitz was just trying to help.  And they were guests in Penelope’s home, after all.  “Erm,” she wiggled her hands uncertainly, “Jell-O, I guess?”  She turned to her best friend.   _You got me into this, Drinky-Time Dan._  “ And one for Fitz as well.”

-o-

 

“Trivia… yessh… I vote _that_ ,” Simmons took care to slur her words, but didn’t overdo it.  Thankfully she’d been around enough drunk girls in her time that this was proving a bit easier than she’d anticipated.  A terrible liar she might be, but Jemma Simmons was no slouch at imitation.

It still seemed ridiculous that she should even have to affect drunkenness in order to avoid having a syrupy blend of rum and fruit pressed into her hands at every opportunity.  For some reason, Penelope seemed to be making it her tipsy mission to see “how drunk can the babies get” -- which, honestly, was despicable, and would be doubly so if she’d actually fallen for it.  But they didn’t call Simmons a genius because she worked at the Apple store.   _And_ _**I’m** _ _certainly not getting my stomach pumped for the sake of Penelope’s twisted whim._

 

* * *

 

S.H.I.E.L.D. Triviassault?   _What the Hell is that?_   Fitz stared at the dark gray box Lexie was holding up, the familiar eagle logo giving little hint as to what was inside.   _Much like the agency itself_ .  Across the room, Simmons voiced her too-loud approval at the idea of a trivia contest.   _Tricksy hobbit._   Simmons had the clear upper hand, and she knew it.  Though various tidbits had snuck in over the years, Fitz was relatively one-dimensional in his knowledge… which was exactly why he’d brought Herrick along.  However, in a stern reminder that Herrick could be an asshole, the older cadet had disappeared early on with a bottle of Tennessee whiskey and a cigar -- most likely to the shadowy back yard with the smokers and casual snoggers.  This left Fitz to fend off the two hostesses who kept offering him shots with the strong implication that his masculinity was on the line if he refused.   _They’re eventually gonna realize I’ve been vodka-poisonin’ their ficus all night._

Fitz felt a twinge of regret at wasting perfectly good booze, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice.  Simmons had started drinking before him -- _I didn’t even know she_ _**liked** _ _lime gelatin; did she grow up in a hospital?_ \-- and with Herrick vanished, needed someone to keep watch over her, to make sure she didn’t embarrass herself, and potentially capture photographic evidence if she did.   _Besides, the only chance I’ll have of trouncing her at trivia is if she’s sloshed._   So he really couldn’t _afford_ to drink.  And to be perfectly honest, Fitz had never been keen on hard liquor -- the idea of letting himself get out of control didn’t appeal in the slightest.

He quickly filled his one-ounce glass from a water bottle he was hiding, then stumbled deliberately to the bar.  Hefting the shot up high, Fitz cheered, “To bad decisions!” and tossed it back, witnessing Simmons’ enthusiastic “Wooooo!” as she tipped back her cheap red cup for a long swallow.  He tottered over to her, wanting to stick close in case she fell over.   _I should warn her to slow down._   Simmons appeared to be only pleasantly buzzed, so he wasn’t too worried yet, but as thin as she was, one stiff drink could change that on a dime.  And from what he could see, she’d had quite a few.

“Whatcha drinkin’?” he pasted a big dumb grin all over his face.

“Screwdriver…”  She started laughing adorably.  “Oh!  Tha’s your favorite!”

“Lemme have some then…” he reached for her cup with an unsteady hand.   _I can at least gauge how strong it is._

“No!” she retorted, a bit quick, turning her body protectively.  “I mean,” her eyes got very wide and dopey, “this’n’s mine.  Find y’r own.”

“Y’ get _mean_ when yer drunk,” he poked a finger into her ribs, “selfish...”  Fitz very nearly froze when he realized what he was doing.  He’d never touched her this freely before, but, he rationalized, it was something he might do if he was inebriated.   _Right?_  Not that he had much experience to draw from.

Simmons slapped his hand away and stuck out her tongue.  Her pink, enticing-- _She’s completely piss-drunk.  Stop thinkin’ about her tongue like that._

“And you, m’ friend, get funnier,” she giggled, pawing at his arm a bit.  “I thought you’d be -hic!- morose.”

Fitz thickened his accent.  “Why’y’ thin’ tha’?  ‘M havin’ fun… alcohol’s the best…”

“Mmm-hmmm…!  Yaaaay, alcohol…!” she helicoptered her arms.

He nodded thickly, crashed his tiny glass into her plastic tumbler, and had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely.  He felt a bit guilty hiding his sobriety from Simmons, but he hated to disappoint her when she seemed to like “drunk Fitz” so much, and as far gone as she was, he couldn’t trust her to keep a secret right now anyway.  Besides, he was staying sharp so that _she_ could have a good time, and if it helped him compete, so much the better.   _So it’s not cheating.  Not really._

 

* * *

 

Simmons stared at the spot in the sink where, less than two hours earlier, she’d spit out that nasty green wad of tequila and Jell-O.  She slowly raised her eyes to the mirror, smudged her makeup the merest bit, and decided she looked appropriately flushed for someone who had been drinking steadily.  Imitating a drunk person was actually a very fun challenge -- she doubted she’d find the situation nearly as interesting if she really had been intoxicated.  Memorizing the subtle tics and tells of the people around her, adopting them into her own mannerisms, had kept her thoroughly entertained all evening.  This real-world context was so much better for trying out hypotheses than the lab.  Even Fitz seemed sold, which was the true test, considering how well he knew her.   _They should really do this for Spec-Ops training._

Though she might need to convince Fitz to cut back pretty soon -- he was going through fluid ounces like he was trying to create a new conversion system.  She had to say, she was impressed with Fitz’s ability to hold his alcohol so far -- _perhaps some stereotypes are true_ \-- and it was making him more affectionate and open, which was a refreshing change.  Hazy plans for testing the boundary of their friendship blipped across Simmons’ face before she shut them down.   _Although…_ if she kissed him under the guise of alcoholic influence, especially if he was also drunk and unlikely to remember… honestly, it was the perfect excuse.   _Stop that, Jemma.  You cannot possibly be considering taking advantage of your drunk friend just to satisfy your curiosity._

 _No, of course._  She wasn’t some lecherous opportunist, or Jonesy.  She wasn’t about to stick her tongue down Fitz’s throat while he was impaired.  But if she “drunkenly” happened to lose her balance and ended up leaning on him a bit more than usual, well, that was okay, wasn’t it?

With a deep breath, Simmons fixed her silly smile in place and went back to the game.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cool. So here's my take on those FitzSimmons-get-super-drunk type fics. I don't see them as big partiers, certainly not at the beginning of their Academy days. But I wanted to give a nod to the popular idea among the fandom that the science babies are crazy hard drinkers.
> 
> I know other writers have also explored the idea that FitzSimmons cheat at drinking games, but I don't think I've seen quite this approach yet. I do hope that it didn't feel too cracky, considering they were both acting the way they thought they _might_ act if they were drunk, when neither one had ever been drunk before (gosh, what a pretzel). Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> "King of the Lab" is from the TV show Bones.
> 
> There's one more chapter to this, and it's pretty much done, so it should be up soon.
> 
> (I'm not going to beg for reviews this time. Because, baby, c'mon, baby, I want you to leave a review because _you_ want to. Heheh.)
> 
> :-D


	2. Chapter 2

_  
How the Hell did I end up playing for the Hydra team?_   Simmons puffed in irritation as she examined the board again.  S.H.I.E.L.D. Triviassault, a proprietary game by the looks of it, demanded a bit of strategy to win.   _Probably not the best choice to play with a group of twenty-somethings who’re all three sheets to the wind._  The score was close.  If she answered the next question alone, she could advance two little plastic Hydra tanks within firing range of the miniature building that represented S.H.I.E.L.D. Central Command.

“I’d like to answer on my own, please,” she requested politely, her boozy persona momentarily forgotten.  She noticed Fitz watching, and quickly clapped a few dizzy high-fives toward her teammates.  “Coz I got this!  Oh yeah!  You lot are in trouble!”  

Penelope, as acting quizmaster, read out the question.  “What 'pouncing' deity does double duty, with followers in both ancient Egypt and modern Wakanda?”

“Bast!  It’s Bast!”  Simmons’ hands flapped in excitement.  “Hah!  Take that, S.H.I.E.L.D.!”  She quickly placed the game markers into position and caught Fitz’s eye again.  “When I’m King of the Lab,” she beamed, “I’m going to make you build me a crown.”

He scrunched his face in annoyance.  “Can’t imagine anything’ll fit around that big head.  Try lettin’ some of the hot air out an’ we’ll talk, yeah?”

 

* * *

  
“ I’ll take help from my team,” said Fitz, while Simmons rolled her eyes at him, mouthing “Again?”   _That’s fine._  The S.H.I.E.L.D. side was winning anyway, so he could afford to be cautious and take fewer points in exchange for a greater chance at the right answer.

Penelope read, “What do Las Vegas blackjack dealers stand on?”

Fitz looked at the others through deliberately sluggish eyes.  For all that he knew that answer, he might as well have been drinking, instead of just pretending to.

“Erm… the floor?  A step-stool?  Is it the floor?”  Fitz offered.   _It couldn’t be that easy…_

Lexie burst into giggles next to him.  “A step-stool!  Are all Scottish people this funny?”  She fell sideways, surprising him, and Fitz helped her right herself.  He managed to keep up his relaxed, wobbly façade, no small feat considering the eyeful he’d inadvertently gotten down her blouse.

Fitz shrugged, smiling.  “I don’t know…  I haven’t met all Scottish people.”  That prompted another round of bubbling laughter and some heaving breaths, which he felt a mite guilty for noticing.

His gaze snapped to Simmons, and found her peering at him, chewing on the inside of her cheek with a slight frown.  She broke her eyes away immediately and went back to slowly twirling in place, moved by the pounding bassline of the sound system, Michelob can in hand.   _At least she’s finally switched to beer._   If he’d seen her go still, or curl up in a corner, or stop talking, Fitz would have probably made them leave, competition be damned.  But Simmons still seemed happily buzzed.  She clearly had some trick to avoid getting sloshed in these peer-pressure situations.   _I’ll have to pry it out of her sometime._

“Not ‘the floor’, dope” asserted one of his teammates, a Comm-Ops cadet -- _Joe?_ \--from their shared history class.  “It’s a gambling thing.  What is it, gang, seventeen?  Eighteen?  Nineteen’s too high, right?”

Lexie gave a noncommittal shrug.  “Eighteen sounds good to me.  Fitz?”

“Yup, no problem.”  He raised his voice and addressed the host, “Eighteen.”

“Oooh, sorry,” hissed Penelope, not looking overly upset.  “Seventeen.  So close!”

Simmons was chortling, “Hydra dance party!” as she tugged a girl up off the sofa, a Mutant Systems second-year named Mercedes, to join her.  They bopped around in classic drunk-girls-dancing-together style, while Simmons tipped her head at Fitz in mockery.   _Damn it!_ Fitz could see it now.  He’d wind up waking at half five in the morning all weekend, because Simmons would want to catalog some grasshopper that only came out in the wee hours and he’d need to carry her camera bag or something equally inane.   _Herrick would have known that answer._   Where the Hell _was_ Herrick, anyway?  Didn’t he know he was here for a reason?   _Bloody fair-weather friend.  I hope whoever he’s shagging, she’s pretty, at least._  Because Fitz was going to be reminding him of this betrayal for weeks to come.

 

* * *

  
“I’ll ans- answer alone…” Simmons remembered to giggle.  This game was going her way.  She’d built up a small lead, due in no small part to her confident risk-taking.

“Cool.  What ‘princely’ substance covers a deer’s antler when it is growing?”

“Mmm…” Simmons ran her hand over the side of her face as if she were enjoying the feel of her own skin.  “Velvet…”

She heard Fitz scoff.  “Should’ve asked for help, Simmons, but y’ got cocky.”  He lowered his voice to a mutter.  “Velvet, really, of all the ridiculous--”

“That is correct!”

Simmons smirked and pushed her tiny tank up the board, knocking off one of the teeny S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft carriers and locking eyes with Fitz’s dazzlingly blue ones.  “Oops.  You seem to be running out of resources.”  The challenge was sitting tall in her voice, soaking in it like a hot tub.

Fitz looked away and continued to grouse.  “Velvet?!  That’s the stuff on an Elvis painting, not an antler, for the love of--”

 

* * *

  
Fitz just barely managed to dump the latest shot he’d been handed into the nearest cup before his hosts turned back towards him.   _That was close._   Between Lexie’s chest on display in her party clothes -- _like two pert apricots poppin’ out_ \-- and Simmons laying fetchingly across the arm of an easy chair, trailing her fingers through her hair, Fitz was finding it increasingly difficult to focus.

“To Hell with it.  I’ll answer by myself.”   _We’re gonna lose soon anyway, unless we do somethin’ drastic._   He wasn’t going to be King of the Lab, or of anything.  He was going to be Serf of the Lab.   _And Simmons’ll make me wear somethin’ embarrassing, I know it._   A pageant sash announcing her superiority, perhaps, or a T-shirt with a naughty line drawing and the caption “Biologists do it in base pairs.”   _Somethin’ like that._  So Fitz needed to pull out all the stops to win.

“Alright, Fitz!” cheered Lexie, “You can do it!  Full points!”

Penelope cleared her throat.  “Move over, Disney!  What ‘squeaky’ piece of computer equipment was invented by Douglas Engelbart in 1963?”

 _Oh, mother of all things._   He had no idea.  Fitz _used_ computers; he wasn’t a computer nerd.  He inhaled deeply and forced himself to settle.  He thought about the wording.  Disney?   _The Hell kind of garbage questions are these?_   Before he could get angry, he felt Simmons’ eyes on him and made himself smile at her with a false sense of security.   _Okay, I can do this._  Disney… squeaky… computers… “Mouse!”  He couldn’t hide his anticipation as he waited to be assured of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s comeback, or their destruction.

Penelope and Lexie gave him twin smiles, even as Simmons’ pout took over her face like a dark sky.  “Correct!”

He let out a -- _not girlish at all_ \-- noise of relief and smugly knocked over the two weakest Hydra tanks on the board.  “And boom goes the dynamite.”

 

* * *

_  
Fiddlesticks._   Somehow, Fitz’s team had managed to edge ahead after demolishing her own small gains.  Had they all studied their trivia _while_ they were drunk?  Contextual learning would seem to indicate that Fitz’s team should _not_ be able to recall random facts this well.   _But we’ll get it back._   They still had one brave little tank on the board, perfectly positioned to take down Central Command and win the game.  If she answered correctly, and with a little luck, she could bring it home with this next question.  If she got it wrong, the game was a lock for team S.H.I.E.L.D.   _Pressure’s on._  And Simmons was fantastic under pressure.

“I don’t need any help.”  She didn’t even remember to slur this time.  Her decoy beer can went on top of an end table as she brushed her hands together.  “Let’s do this.”

“Okay… here goes: what is the white part of most raw eggs?"

Fitz was suddenly protesting, “Come _on_ , that’s not even difficult!  Who wrote these stupid--”

Penelope interrupted, “Oh, that’s a fun fact -- S.H.I.E.L.D. lets the top students in each graduating class come up with a few questions apiece, and every five years the Academy puts out a Triviassault expansion pack.  Neat, huh?”

“Yeah, just brill,” he muttered around a scowl.  “Jesus.  Now there’s trivia about the trivia game?”  Fitz put one hand on his hip and pointed to the girls with the other.  “It’s not fair.  Penelope,” he entreated, “y’ don’t really want to see Hydra win, do you?  Consider your values, woman!  What kind of person would--”

“Fitz!”  Simmons rebuked, “Don’t be a sore loser.  You’re going to love sunrise hiking, I’m sure of it!”  She turned to Penelope.  “The white of the egg is called albumen.”

Fitz grumbled, “Everyone knows that.  For Pete’s sake.”

Penelope smiled sweetly.  “Sorry!  Albumen is only white when it’s cooked.  The white part of most _raw_ eggs is the shell.”

 _What._   Fitz let out a high-pitched whoop, sharing a celebratory hug with his teammates -- _Did Lexie just grab his arse?!_ \-- as Simmons stared down Penelope.  “Well that’s an absurd distinction,” she explained flatly, to Penelope’s unapologetic shrug.  “This is nonsense, you know.”  Her palms wiped across the thighs of her jeans as her head shook out an incredulous _no_.  “Honestly, I don’t know why you even have this game.”

“Aww, Simmons…” she could hear the _never-gonna-let-you-live-this-down_ in Fitz’s tone, “Don’t be such a sore loser.”

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so two chapters turned into three.  As they tend to do when I get excited.  The last section is undergoing final tweaks and will be up within a couple days!
> 
> The trivia questions are all true, and I found them on the Web (thanks, Internet, you’re the best!) and in particular www.triviahalloffame.com
> 
> As I’m sure you guessed, S.H.I.E.L.D. Triviassault is not a real board game.
> 
> The question about Bast was inspired by [TheLateNightStoryteller](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5373487/)'s fic Carnivorous Plants, which is set in the Marvel nation of Wakanda, and has been teaching me quite a bit about that fascinating fake country.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Simmons patted her cheeks with the hand towel and turned off the tap.  Trick question or not, she’d lost, and she was going to be the bigger person.  She would _not_ gripe at Fitz about his decisions over Thanksgiving, and she would put up with whatever humiliation he had in store.   _Maturity, Jemma.  It’s not just for cheddar cheese._

“So, Lex, whaddya think?”  Simmons recognized Penelope’s voice on the other side of the bathroom door.

“About the engineer?  Chica, you _know_ I like those virgin types.  Somebody needs Sexy Lexie to show him a thing or two in the bedroom… boss ‘im around a little...”  The girls’ conversation got muffled as they moved further into the hall, their giggles fading into the din of the party as Simmons stared at her reflection, dumbfounded.

A hard knot of antipathy was signing a lease in her diaphragm.  Penelope’d invited them because Lexie liked _virgins_?  Was she a cult-leader?  No wonder she’d been plying Fitz with so many spirits; she’d been all over him during that game.  Though, if she remembered accurately, Fitz had been a bit grabby himself.  And not always in a drunken way.

Simmons’ plan to march out and warn him immediately derailed itself in a sudden wave of self-doubt.  What if Fitz welcomed Lexie’s attention?  Honestly, he wasn’t a child, and if that was the sort of girl he liked, Simmons was in no position to say otherwise.  Fitz could take up with anyone he wanted.   _Even a gross, handsy, bleached-blonde cougar._  But Simmons didn’t have to be happy about it.

 

* * *

  
Fitz found Simmons chewing on a lime wedge in the kitchen.  “That the reason for your sour puss?” he joked, pointing to the small pile of discarded citrus peels.

She huffed.  “There’s nothing to eat at this bloody party that actually grew on a tree.”  She reached for a small bowl of maraschino cherries, popping one in her mouth rather petulantly.   To Fitz’s inordinate relief, she chomped it down without ceremony.  If she’d tried to suck the juice out -- _I think I might actually need to be drunk for that._

Fitz sighed.  “I know you’re mad about losin’, but that’s no reason to take it out on the garnish.”  He yanked open the refrigerator and hunted around a bit.  “Just give me a minute, I’ll find y’ somethin’.”

“Fitz!” Simmons hissed, alarmed and glancing about to make sure no one else was coming.  “You can’t just go into someone’s fridge like that!”

He shrugged.  “Er… I’ve been drinkin’ a lot tonight.  I can’t be blamed for my actions.”

“Well, yes,” she conceded, lacing her fingers together, “Alcohol consumption _has_ been linked to increased appetite, as well as a reduced ability to recognize consequences.  Oh!”  That was an _I’m-excited-about-science-and-let-me-tell-you_ ‘oh’, and her hands sprang apart.  “Did you happen to read the study monitoring the effects of ethanol on zebrafish?”

Fitz fixed her with a flat stare.  “If I say I did, are y’ still gonna tell me?”

She wrinkled her nose in irritation before pressing on.  “Well, they discovered that one drunk zebrafish will show off to its peers by swimming faster, and a group of them will lose the capacity to swim together in formation--”   _Hah.  Don’t get drunk, fishies, stay in schools._  “--and Fitz!  Isn’t it thrilling that humans and fish would have the same response to _anything_?”  Arms illustrating her enthusiasm, Simmons toppled a martini shaker off the counter.

Fitz’s hand darted out and caught it mid-air, putting it back in the sink for good measure.  Simmons’ eyes had gone wide at his show of dexterity, a hint of disbelief skipping across the hazel fields.   _Uh-oh._ She still thought he was drunk.   _Quick, say something._  “So… that was some game, eh?” he chuckled, voice a bit strained.

She rolled her eyes, petulant.  “I should have won, you know.  The _shell_.  Honestly.”  

 _I hope she’s not put out about that all weekend._  “Those questions were terrible,” he agreed amiably, hoping to set her at ease.

“Didn’t stop you from getting most of them right…” Simmons pressed an index finger to the side of her chin, “and you _have_ knocked back quite a few this evening…” she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “how are you not vomiting right now?”  She was wearing her Sherlock face, the one that said she wanted to check his pupil dilation.

 _Shite._  Should he tell her what he’d been doing?  Or would she be angry at him for lying?  He needed a distraction.   _Divert her attention, turn it around on her._  Not for the first time in his life, Fitz felt like the secret agent he was more or less training to be.

“Me?  What about _you?_  You’ve had no food all night and you’ve been poundin’ margaritas like a public-school teacher at happy hour.”   _Hey, wait a minute._  That was a really good point.  “Y’ know, you were pretty sharp answerin’ those questions, too, considerin’ you were _sooo_ hammered.”  His eyes whipped to Simmons’ face and found her staring back defiantly, a flash of anger zipping over her as she processed his words.

“I suppose I’m just one of those people who can hold their liquor.”  Her voice was crystal.   _She’s not off her tits one bit._  Maybe she never was.   _The sneaky mountebank._  She’d been tryin’ to hustle him at trivia.   _I knew it._  She’d been far too focused during those last few rounds.

“Well, me too,” Fitz wasn’t sure what was going on, but his competitive spirit had kicked in, and there was no way he was giving ground first.  “Must be a Scottish thing.”

They were facing off now, eyes blazing.

“Then perhaps you should have another.”  The fierce set of her shoulders threw down a gauntlet.

“Oh, I will.”  He popped open a beer and swallowed a good third of it, keeping eye contact the whole damn time.   _That’ll show her_.  Giving in to the need for breath, he lowered the bottle from his lips with a confrontational smirk.  “I love gettin’ pissed.  It’s great.”

She grabbed the beer from him and took a hearty swig, arching a saucy eyebrow. “Indeed.  As you can see, I’m a bit squiffy even now.”

 _That lying little…_ Fitz shifted forward, intent on exposing her deceit.

 

* * *

  
Fitz angled himself towards her.  “So’m I.  Dead blotto.  Lowered inhibitions and everythin’.”

It all seemed a bit surreal.  Simmons was fairly sure now that this one beer they were sharing was the first actual drink of the evening for either of them.  It was fitting they’d both come up with the same strategy for dealing with peer pressure, a sign of their near-psychic compatibility.  She might’ve even been willing to admit the ruse; they could’ve had a good laugh over it.  But then Fitz had the nerve to imply she’d been cheating at trivia.   _He’s going to pay for that._

“Lowered inhibitions, hmm?  Is _that_ why you were ogling our hostess during the game?”  He flushed a satisfying red, not bothering to deny it.

“Well, y’know.  Drunk people do stupid things.”

 _Hmm._ She felt a driving need to pry, and honestly, after the way Fitz had behaved, he deserved to be far more uncomfortable.  “She seemed rather interested.”   _Let’s get to the bottom of this, shall we?_  “You could go find her; she’d probably snog you.”

Fitz gulped as the beet color reached the top of his hairline.  “I’m too dizzy to go anywhere right now.  Loss of coordination an’ all.  From the alcohol.”  He trained those ice blue weapons on her.  “But _you_ could find someone to snog if y’ want.  I mean, if you’re really drunk enough to do somethin’ like that.”

 _Hello, what’s this?_  His tone was adversarial; he was still trying to trip her up.  But was he really suggesting… _Oh, go on then, Jemma._  If it turned awkward, they had five days to get over it before they had to be in class or in the lab together.  She stepped into his personal space.  “I just might do that.  Any ideas for who I should kiss?”  The tilt of her chin dared him to answer.

Fitz did look away then, hand going automatically to the back of his neck as he regarded his shoes.  He coughed out a nervous laugh.  “Whoever y’ like, Simmons.”  He sounded disgruntled, and like he didn’t appreciate being mocked.

The feather duster in her stomach fluttered, kicking up little clouds as it moved over her rib cage.  She went up on tiptoe, slow as syrup, hands coming out at a snail’s pace to balance herself against Fitz’s chest.  He inclined his head slightly, all of him stock-still, watching her from a straightjacket.  She could’ve felt his breath on her nose, if he’d been breathing.  She inched closer, lips an impulse away.

 _This is weird._  Fitz was her friend.  She wasn’t even sure she was _that_ attracted to him.  And at this close proximity, overwhelming her field of vision, his face looked huge.  Really, comically wide -- and he seemed to have only one eye, which was staring at her Cyclops-style.  Her concentration broken, a voiceless chuckle eagled out of her throat as she backed away microscopically.

“What?  What’s so funny?”  He sounded defensive, a voice so normal it nearly pulverized her.

“You,” she teased, desperate to soften the unbearable press of rock in the landslide of this moment.  “Close your eyes, you plonker.”

“Wha-- _you_ close your eyes!  Y’ wouldn’t be laughin’ about my eyes being open if you weren’t doin’ the same thing yourself.”

“Okay, fine.  We’ll both close our eyes.  Here we go.”

Their faces crashed together, mouths just missing each other.

“Fitz!”

“Bloody Hell, Jemma, you told me to close my eyes.  I can’t see if my eyes are shut; why d’ you think I tried to keep them open in the first place?”

“Okay, let’s set the trajectory first then.” They lined themselves up.  “ _Now_ we close our eyes, and just to make sure there’s no more problems, we’ll count it down.  Alright?”  She closed her eyes.  “On three.”

“Right.  One, two, th--mmmf.”  He was halfway through speaking, and their teeth clicked unpleasantly.

“Oh, God, sorry.  Were you going to say ‘three’ and then go?  I thought ‘on three’ meant after two.”

“Christ, you’re right.  My mistake.  I don’t know what I was doin’.”

More laughter was threatening to burst out of her, but Fitz looked determined as he prompted, “Third time’s the charm?”

“Third and final, I should think.  We may actually be drunk, as badly as we’ve flubbed this.”

“Well, of course we’re drunk.  I thought we established that.”

“Mmm,” she smiled up at him encouragingly.  “Legless, really.”

“Plastered out of our skulls,” he lowered his lips, tantalizingly close, and she closed the distance, sliding her arms up around his neck.  Still holding his bottle, Fitz pressed his forearm across the back of her waist, his other hand gripping the edge of the countertop behind him.  Her eyelashes flitted closed as she reveled in the unexpectedness of his mouth.  Softer than she’d anticipated, warm and a bit wet, but not in any way that could be called disconcerting.  He tasted of lime and beer and salt -- it wasn’t perfect, but it could’ve been much worse.  And while the teeth-bumping fiasco should probably technically count, Simmons didn’t think Fitz would mind if she designated this their first official kiss.   _A very fine one at that._

They dropped apart after a few seconds.  Fitz was looking at her oddly.  She debated kissing him again, just to wipe the strangeness from his face.   _No, best to back off._  She’d wanted to kiss Fitz, yes, just to _know_ , and so her first kiss would be with her best friend.  Now that it was done, Simmons wasn’t sure either of them were ready to be any more than they were, not when they had such a valuable friendship and partnership on the line.  Plus, in all fairness, she wasn’t convinced that “adorable” was really her type.  And who knew if she was even _his_ type, for all that Fitz had insisted on seeing this little experiment through.

Herrick rounded the doorway, his lazy smile giving no clue about where he’d been hiding for the past several hours.  “You kids fixin’ to head out?”

They both startled, Simmons putting a few extra steps between them while Fitz aimed his beer accusingly at his roommate.  “The Hell did _you_ go off to?  Y’ were supposed to be helpin’ me win.”

“A-ha!”  Simmons barked triumphantly.  “Fitz, you utter scoundrel!”

“Hey, now, I still beat you without ‘im.”  He jerked a thumb in Herrick’s direction and addressed him again.  “So?  Where were you?”

Herrick held up a brick of loosely stacked bills.  “Earnin’ our pizza budget for the month, bucko.”  A deep, contagious guffaw galloped out of his larynx.  “Buncha geniuses, and none of these freshmen can wrangle a half-decent poker face.”

Herrick drained his whiskey and tossed the bottle into the bin with a loud _clink_.  “What about y’all?  Get up to anythin’ fun?”  The words carried a note of blatant insinuation.

Every visible patch of skin on both of them had to be crimson.   _Bless this dim party lighting._

“Erm…” Fitz stammered, “well, we…”

Simmons collected herself.  Who was Herrick to judge them?  “We got quite drunk,” she declared unabashedly.  “And there was a faceoff between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra.  You should’ve seen it; one for the history books, I’d say.”

If Herrick was confused, he dissembled admirably.  “So y’all got wasted, huh?”  His impeccable eyebrows went up, amused.

“Completely,” nodded Simmons, and Fitz straightened from his self-conscious hunch, standing taller as he corroborated her story.

“Yep,” he concurred.  “Won’t remember a thing tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, oh my god you guys. There's a little epilogue coming after this, and then that’s really the end. (No! I mean it!)
> 
> So… this was a sort of thank-you to everyone who’d been reading Oh To Be Young… they finally got a kiss! (Took ‘em long enough, amirite?)
> 
> Obviously, this is my contribution to the “Fitzsimmons were each other’s first kiss” bandwagon, which I was inspired to hop onto by fics like Anytha’s “Please, don’t say you love me” and infinitestarsintheskye’s “Four” (among others). In my head canon, neither of them really dated before the Academy, because of their age compared to their classmates, and the fact that they’d simply been too busy. So it made perfect sense that they should have been each other’s first kiss. And besides, it’s adorable.
> 
> I also took inspiration from various “drunken kiss” fics and all the tropes and clichés that go with that, too many to name here (if you felt like I copied you -- it certainly wasn’t my intention -- please message me and I’ll be happy to credit you if appropriate) as well as other FitzSimmons“first time” fics like owlvsdove’s “it's a sharp shock to your soft side.”
> 
> The idea that they would catch each other in a lie and it would escalate, is somewhat taken from Friends “The One Where Everybody Finds Out” where Chandler and Phoebe fake-flirt, each trying to force the other to crack first under the pressure.
> 
> Shout-out to the wonderful starbrightnights for acting as a human thesaurus. You are font of alcoholic slang, my dear.
> 
> I struggled so much with this chapter, y’all. Thanks to my awesome beta amandajoyce118 for talking me down.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Three days later, Simmons woke to the insistent buzzing of her phone.  Fumbling in the dark, she blinked sleepily and pressed the green button.  “Fitz?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.  Why aren’t you awake yet?  I thought you’d be curing Huntington’s or something.  Besides, it’s Black Friday.”

“What?”   _He wanted to go_ _ **shopping**_ _?_  “It’s too early, Fitz.”  He’d kept her up far too late playing racing games following the heavy American meal -- _I’m certain he gave me the wonky controller_ \-- and that was after forcing her to sit through a _Top Gear_ marathon the day before.  “Just… go back to sleep.  I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Now, Simmons,” and he had donned that infuriatingly superior voice, “is that any way to speak to the King of the Lab?”

She groaned and flopped her head back on the pillow.  Apparently, Fitz was invoking his royal prerogative.  Again.  “Yes, my _liege_?”  She allowed her vexation to broadcast itself in her tone.

“Citizen Simmons, I hereby command you…”

-o-

  
Three hours later she was standing at a railway station, stamping her feet against the cold and rubbing gloved hands together under her Gryffindor scarf until Fitz pressed a travel mug of peppermint hot cocoa into her grasp.

“But why are we here so _early?_  I know you love trains--”

“Just watch,” Fitz’s eyes were glued to a nearby bend in the track that wound through the trees.  He slurped his tea.  “You were sayin’ how y’ couldn’t wait for Christmas, and… today’s the first official day of the Christmas season, so I thought…”

The most gorgeous, old-fashioned steam engine she’d ever seen puffed slowly into view.  It was berry red and forest green and decorated with curling gold designs, ribbons and wreaths in the windows, holly and pine boughs decorating the doorways, a large brass bell bringing up the front.

“Oh, Fitz…” she breathed.  “Look.”

“It’s a six-hour round trip, with a stop at Santa’s Village for lunch.  Since we won’t get to see each other during the actual holiday…?”  They would both be returning to their homes for winter break and would be busy with family obligations throughout the hiatus.

She couldn’t help the smile that ziplined across her face.  Trust Fitz to find the perfect activity to make up for clobbering her at _Burnout Revenge_.  And he’d woken up early for the surprise.   _Bless his cotton socks._

“Don’t think you’re gettin’ any homework done on the train, though.”  He pulled a pair of battered old Pokémon decks from his messenger bag, and she pushed down a wry grin.

“Happy Christmas, Fitz.”  Her fingers brushed soft against his sleeve.

“Merry Christmas, Simmons.”

He dug through his bag once more and held out a formless roll of lavender tissue paper, almost shy as his bottom lip went between his teeth.  Unfurling it gently, Simmons discovered a flimsy paper crown, the sort that normally came in the festive Yuletide party favors back home.  Fitz shrugged in apology.  “I couldn’t find us any proper Christmas crackers...”  He perched his own yellow hat carefully atop his curls, careful not to rip it.  “But didn’t you ask me to make y’ a crown?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it! And it was only twice the originally intended length. So that’s not too bad, right? (Y’all know how I like to ramble on.)
> 
> We have a Christmas Train like this, near where I live. It's _beautiful_. And I think Fitz loves trains (haha, engineer) and Simmons loves Christmas, so I thought it would be a nice compromise for them.
> 
> Thanks again to the delightful starbrightnights (who writes incredibly rad stories) for her wealth of information on all things British, and particularly the super-cute Christmas traditions.
> 
> I’ve always had the head canon that Fitz plays collectible-card games. But I have to give credit to my gal TheLateNightStoryteller on FF for them playing Pokemon together. If you want more of that, check out her fic Pokemon Cards.
> 
> Thanks to amandajoyce118 for having the patience of a saint and letting me chatter and fuss at her until this hot mess of a fic came together. Sort of came together. I hope.  
> (She’s a badass writer and this story was greatly improved by her intervention, is what I’m saying. Thanks doll!)


End file.
